Page 53 of Laced in Longing

CHAPTER NINETEEN

MAVEN

Uneven patches of ice greet the soles of my boots as I stumble home. The clouds hang low and heavy above me, pregnant with the promise of more snow.

Five days since Ash pulled me back from the roof’s edge. Five days since I felt his solid form beneath mine as we crashed to the concrete.

Five days of…whatever this is. I don’t know. Everything feels upside down.

Each evening follows the same pattern. I return from work to find him waiting, sometimes by the window, sometimes perched on the edge of my bed. Always watching with that intense focus that makes my skin prickle. He speaks, and I listen—absorbing details of a world I still can’t quite picture. He tells me of my past lives, though his endless stories are a discomfort. He’s been waiting for me for so long. So long.

Last night, he described his palace gardens in such vivid detail I could almost smell the flowers he cultivates there. His voice grew fond as he spoke of blooms that change color depending on who observes them and leaves that chime softly when brushed by a passing body. He tends them himself, this God of Longing—something I’ll never get over. Perhaps I’ve read too many books of people who live in palaces, but I’ve never heard of the owners managing the housework. The image of him kneeling among otherworldly flora, those long fingers working the earth, sends an unexpected heat curling through my abdomen.

“The family garden was your favorite place,” he told me, his voice soft with memory. “In your third life, you would spend hours there, naming each plant in a language you created just for them.”

I said nothing, as I always say nothing during these one-sided conversations. But my silence isn’t rejection anymore. It’s…processing. An attempt to reconcile the impossibility of his existence with the undeniable reality of his presence.

The wind slices through my coat, yanking me back to the present. My fingers have gone numb despite my gloves, and my face burns with cold. I should have taken the metro all the way home instead of getting off early to walk. But lately, I crave these moments alone—space to think without Ash’s presence filling every corner of my awareness.

A pressure builds behind my eyes, familiar but strange. The world tilts slightly, dull colors bleeding at the edges of my vision. My steps falter as vertigo grips me, the sidewalk rippling beneath my feet. Am I dying?

No, I cannot be dying here—not yet!

My hand shoots out to grab a lamppost for support, the metal hungrily gripping my glove. The pressure intensifies, a vise tightening around my skull until⁠—

The sun warms my face as I sit by the riverbank, legs crossed beneath me on a smooth, flat stone. Water rushes past, catching the light and fracturing it into a thousand glittering fragments. I pick up another stone, testing its weight in my palm before flicking my wrist to send it skipping across the surface.

One, two, three bounces before it sinks.

Hmm, still not close to my goal.

“You’re improving,” a deep voice remarks from beside me. “Last week you couldn’t manage more than two.”

I turn to the man sitting next to me, close enough that our shoulders nearly touch. The white veil obscures his face, its presence softened by the waning light. I picture him clearly, though. Strong jaw, full lips curved in a smile, eyes dark as midnight but warm as they regard me. His hair falls in loose waves to his shoulders, black as a raven’s wing.

“Perhaps I’ve been practicing,” I reply, my voice light and teasing. “Or perhaps I merely wished to impress you.”

He laughs, the sound rich and full, vibrating through the air between us. “You need not try to impress me, Maven. Everything you do already does.”

Warmth blooms in my blood, a feeling so good my breath catches. Happiness. He makes me happy.

If only I could touch him.

I pretend to lean against him, my head hovering over the hollow of his shoulder as if it belongs there. His arm wraps around me, solid and secure even if I cannot feel it, anchoring me against the darkness of the world.

“Will you tell me again about the palace?” I ask, my fingers playing with the hem of my sleeve. “About the room that will be mine?”

His chest expands with a deep breath. “It overlooks the eastern gardens, where the twilight is deepest. The walls are mauve.” my brows scrunch, and he clarifies, “Your favorite color. The bed is carved from wood that grows only in the deepest groves, wood that sings when the wind passes through the windows.”

“And we’ll be together there? Always?”

“Always,” he promises, pressing phantom lips to the crown of my head. “For as long as the stars burn.”

I sigh, content in a way I’ve never known. “I wish we could go now.”

His body tenses. “You know we cannot, my flower. Not yet.”

“I know.” Regret colors my voice. “My father needs me still. Just a little longer.”